The Dare
by resauthor
Summary: Boredom during a slow spell at work and an old case file leads to an interesting bet between the partners. Adult themes. Little bit of mild sexual content, lots of romantic tension.


_**Author's notes**__: This came about not as a story in search of a title, but as a title in search of a story. Two words "The Dare" popped into my head one day as I was wondering what to write next. It is a stand-alone story set in the time period where Chris and Rita are already a couple. Just a little puff piece meant to entertain._

_**THE DARE**_

_**by: resauthor**_

Day One

**A heavy sigh echoed** through the quiet homicide department. Was it possible to die of boredom? Sergeant Rita Lance pushed aside the file she was working on and rested her chin on her hand. The beautiful city of Palm Beach, Florida, had gone five weeks without a new homicide case and now that she and her partner were completely caught up on all of their back-logged paperwork, they were stuck going over old files and occasionally testifying in court for the DA's office.

Glancing across the desk at her partner, she sighed again as she asked, "Chinese or Italian?"

"You choose." Sergeant Chris Lorenzo muttered the response without bothering to look up. His attention was caught by a case report he was reading.

"The German deli then," she decided.

"Uh-huh."

His simple grunt of agreement should have made her happy, but it annoyed her instead. Here she was going stir crazy, and he wasn't even willing to put down whatever he was reading for a little polite conversation. What could he have possibly found that was so interesting? All of the files she had gone through that morning had been pretty standard. Murders, like anything else in life, had a pattern and a consistency to them that became fairly obvious after dealing with a few hundred of them. "Chris?"

"Yeah, Sam?" He finally looked up. "What?"

"Lunch," she reminded him. "Is the German deli okay with you?"

"I told you to choose," he repeated. "It doesn't matter to me." His eyes dropped down again.

That tears it! If he found something to relieve the boredom of the last few weeks, it was his duty as her partner to share. Standing up quietly, she walked around behind his chair and bent down to read over his shoulder. Her eyes widened. "I should have known."

Chris turned his head to the side, meeting her amused look. "Is there something wrong?" Her mouth was no more than a scarce few inches away from his. He stared at the rose-colored fullness for a few seconds before raising his eyes to meet hers. "What's gotten into you today?"

"Me?" she laughed. "I'm just trying to find out what you want for lunch. I'm not the one reading about some poor woman's sex life." Wagging a single finger at him, she smiled as she scolded, "I should have known there were intimate details in that file just by the look on your face!"

**With a shake of her head** that left him feeling like a ten-year-old, caught in the bathroom with a Playboy magazine, Chris watched his partner walk back around to her desk and flop down into her chair.

"This is a serious case," he explained, leaning forward, "The husband, their prime suspect was never prosecuted." He was tapping the file as he spoke, surprised by her lack of understanding. Rita spread her hands out and nodded his way in a gesture of apology, but he could tell she was humoring him.

"If it's so interesting," she said calmly, "then, by all means, share it with me. I'm dying for a challenge, Sam."

Eyes narrowed, he watched her closely. Where had all this attitude come from today? Work had been excruciatingly slow lately. Maybe they both needed something new to focus on. After all, anything was preferable to a feisty partner looking to start a fight.

He began explaining quietly, re-opening the file on his desk. "Margaret Willowbrook, age thirty-two, was found murdered in her bedroom on February 15, 1990. The coroner's report says she was strangled with a red satin G-string which was found on the scene...actually, it was wrapped around her neck at the time."

A quick glance up assured him that Rita was listening intently, chin in hand again, elbows resting on her desk. He cleared his throat before continuing, "Her husband was arrested the next day at his place of employment and confessed to the crime, but recanted that confession when his lawyer showed up. He claimed he was coerced into it."

"So why is the file still open?" Rita asked impatiently. "Why didn't he go to trial?"

"Jumped bail."

"Ah-ha..."

"Is it time for lunch yet?" he asked hopefully.

"No. Now about this first confession... what was his reason for killing his wife?"

Chris fingered the neckline of his collarless blue shirt. This would get her going for sure. "Lack of marital privileges."

"Excuse me?"

"Hey, I didn't write the report. I'm just reading what it says right here in black and white."

"He killed his wife over sex?"

"Lack of."

"Oh, well, that makes all the difference in the world, Christopher. Thanks for straightening me out."

Maybe he needed to reword his explanation a bit better. "Mark Willowbrook claimed that his wife had refused to have any relations with him at all for over six months. After all that time, he claims he couldn't control himself on Valentine's night when she turned him down once again."

"No wonder he jumped bail," she commented sarcastically, "that is about the lamest excuse I have ever heard."

Chris frowned and realized his mistake almost immediately. Squirming in his seat he made a weak attempt to defend himself. "Come on, Sammy," he whispered across the desk, "six months is a long time. The guy probably wasn't thinking too straight." When her mouth dropped open, he started glancing toward the department doors, wondering how much of a head start he would have if he bolted for them immediately.

"Six months? You've never gone without for six months?"

"That's not what I said, Rita," he whispered, frustrated. Her attitude was starting to get on his nerves. "I just meant that it's a long time."

"For Pete's sake, Chris, there's a lot more to life than what happens in the bedroom. I can't believe...:"

"I know there's a lot more," he interrupted. "and I think he should be put away for the rest of his life because of what he did. By the same token, I'm just admitting to one little iota of sympathy for the guy's frustration."

"That figures."

"What?"

"Men would stick together on this issue. You have the willpower of alley cats."

Chris was taken aback by her statement. She didn't really believe that, did she? He knew her too well to think she would lump all men into a stereotype this way. "I'm going to pretend you didn't say that," he said, giving her the benefit of the doubt. "You know as well as I do that men have just as much will power as women do, even though I think their sex drive is usually much stronger. Sex is great, but there are priorities in life." In his opinion, her burst of laughter was completely uncalled for, but he kept silent. He didn't even make a comment when she stood up again and pulled her purse out of her desk drawer.

"Yeah. Right, Chris," she teased, still grinning. "I'll go pick up lunch. I need some fresh air." With a quick pat on his shoulder as she walked by her partner, Rita left the building.

Well...that little scene had been an eye-opener, he thought to himself. Admittedly, Rita's comments were probably a direct result of being stuck in the office so long. It was difficult for both of them. Shaking off his thoughts, he tried to focus on the file again. It was hopeless.

"Something wrong, Chris?"

The perplexed detective looked up into the concerned eyes of his boss.

"You were frowning," Harry explained. "Everything okay at home?"

Chris sat up straighter and squared his shoulders. "Of course, Cap. Why do you ask?"

Hands on hips, the Captain nodded towards the doorway, "I just passed your partner in the hallway, and she was laughing. When I asked her what was so funny, she suggested I talk to you. I come in here to do that, and you're frowning. I may not know a whole lot about women, but from what I do know, that's not a good sign. Did you two have a fight?"

"No, just a difference of opinion."

The Captain had now perched himself on the edge of Chris' desk and crossed his arms, waiting to be filled in. "You left her laughing, so it couldn't have been too serious."

Leaning back in his chair, Chris clasped his hands in his lap and decided to run their discussion by his boss. "Hey, Cap?" he started hesitantly.

"Just spill it, Lorenzo," Harry teased, "I have to be out of here by three this afternoon."

Chris nodded and asked, "Do you think men and women have equal amounts of will power?"

"Sure," Harry answered quickly and confidently. "That's it? That's the big debate?"

"What about when it comes to denying themselves?"

"Hey, I had to give up sweets a few years ago because my blood sugar was too high," he confessed, "no problem at all."

Chris arched an eyebrow and smiled as he asked the next question. "I mean denying themselves, uh... you know...intimate contact with each other."

"Sex?" Harry blurted out in confusion.

"Yeah," Chris admitted reluctantly. "Can men give it up just as easily as women? My personal opinion is that I think it's harder for a man, but when it comes down to it, we're just as capable."

"And your partner says?"

"That we men have the self-control of alley cats."

Harry whistled softly, "Harsh." His face lit up with a mischievous smile. "So...why don't you prove her wrong?"

"What?"

"Show her she's wrong."

Chris found himself blushing as he shook his head. Were they really sitting here in the middle of the day having a conversation about this? "I don't think so, Cap," he muttered.

"Yeah," Harry admitted as he stood up, away from the desk, "it's a crazy idea, and why bother trying to prove something like that anyway. " Placing a hand on Chris' shoulder, he added, "After all, what good are principles when you're home alone in bed. Right, kid? Well, I have a desk full of reports waiting for my signature."

It was a frustrated man that watched the Captain walk away. Waking up this morning, the day had seemed like any other workday. No warnings of trouble on the horizon. No hints that anyone would try and turn his sex life into a men's rights issue. Was there something in the coffee today? With a deep sigh, he turned back to his work and tried to concentrate.

A short time later, Rita walked back into the department and dropped a small brown bag onto his desk. He eyed it suspiciously. "What is it?"

"Burrito."

"From the German Deli?"

"Of course not. I changed my mind on the way there."

She was waiting for him to make a comment. He could tell by the defiant look in her eye, but she wasn't drawing him into this one. He pulled the burrito out of the bag and started to eat silently.

"Is it okay?"

Mouth full, he nodded.

"You know, Chris," Rita continued as she took the plastic lid off of her salad, "I've been thinking about what we were discussing before I left."

Chris paused mid-chew and waited to see where she was going with this.

She stabbed the lettuce and pointed the loaded fork in his direction, "And I think you're all talk."

Swallowing hard, he set the burrito down.

Before he could say anything she continued, "But I'm willing to just let the matter drop." Her eyes danced mischievously.

"Are you saying you don't think I could control myself as well as you could?" This was starting to get a little too personal.

"Chris," she laughed, "don't get upset. I'm just saying that, in general, I don't think men have the self-control that women do."

"So, you're telling me that giving up sex would be no problem for you?" There went his ego. It was probably landing smack dab two flights down on the basement floor.

Rita rolled her eyes, "I didn't say that. I'm just saying that at certain periods of my life, just like most people in this world, sex has not been an issue, and that was fine with me. There are plenty of other experiences that fill the void."

"Now you're skirting the real issue here, Rita."

"What do you mean?"

"Everyone has had periods of time without a spouse or a lover, but we're not talking about that. Self-control is the ability to do without when it's right there within reach." This was a matter of principle now. Pushing back his chair, Chris stood and walked around the desks to stand behind his partner. Glancing around first to make sure the coast was clear, he bent down to whisper in her ear, "I'll bet you aren't willing to put this to a test."

She turned slightly to the side so she could gauge the look in his eyes and seemed surprised at the seriousness she found there. "What are you suggesting?"

"We've been together for some time now."

"Yes, we have."

"And the physical side of our relationship has been...well, healthy to say the least."

A shy smile turned up the corners of her mouth. "That's a nice way of describing it."

"You know what I mean."

"Where are you going with this, partner?"

Her affectionate tone stopped him short. This was nuts! Straightening up, he shrugged his shoulders and headed back to his chair. "Never mind, Sam. It was a ridiculous idea."

"What was?"

"Never mind," he said impatiently. Picking his food up, he began to eat again despite his sudden loss of appetite. As long as his mouth was full, he wouldn't have to answer her question, and then maybe she would let the entire subject drop.

Tenacity was a good quality in a homicide detective, and Rita had plenty of it. She played with her salad as she watched and waited for him to swallow. The second he did, she started to ask him another question but froze as it suddenly hit her. He could tell she knew exactly what he had been about to say.

Chris quickly took another huge bite as green eyes narrowed and focused directly on him. He tried to concentrate on chewing, but his forehead was breaking out in tiny beads of sweat.

"You're on!" she informed him, the competitive fire back in her eyes for the first time in weeks.

The shock of her words nearly made him choke as he rushed to swallow so he could speak. A wad of tortilla and beans went down his throat painfully and he started coughing. Rita was out of her chair immediately, handing him the cup of water from her desk and forcing him to take a drink even though he tried to wave her off.

He grabbed his partner's arm when she started to move away. "Whoa...what do you mean, 'I'm on'," he asked, still gasping for air.

"This dare of yours. I think it's a good idea."

There was something about her smile that made him very nervous. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but she was a little too happy about this. "How do you know what I was going to suggest?"

"I'm a detective, remember?"

"Forget it, Sam," he argued. "I changed my mind."

Rita perched on the edge of his desk. "See what I mean? No self-control. You probably wouldn't be able to make it a day."

"You don't think so?"

She shrugged her shoulders and sent him a challenging grin. "How will I ever know?"

"Okay, I'll do it, but I want some ground rules."

"No problem."

Chris rested a hand on the leg within reach, "We're just going to see who breaks down first, right?" As soon as she nodded, he continued, "touching, which includes hugging, kissing, and cuddling is allowed. Otherwise, the bet is off."

Leaning down close to his ear, Rita whispered, "Can we start tomorrow?" Her comment drew a laugh, taking the tension out of the situation.

"No, we start right now." His hand slid around her leg to caress the back of her knee for a moment before letting her go. "My only other request is that we have a time limit on this thing. And I'm not talking about six months either!"

"One month?"

"Too long!"

"One week?"

"Too short."

"Two weeks?" Rita suggested.

"Parfait. And if we both last the two weeks; we'll agree to disagree."

"You'll never make it," she predicted confidently.

Chris smiled back, a sly, seductive smile. "Maybe you're the one who won't go the distance, partner."

The gauntlet had been tossed.

* * *

Day Two

Piece of cake, Chris thought to himself over breakfast. Why had he even been worried?

Last night had gone smoothly and this morning was going even better. Sure, he had almost forgotten about the bet and jumped in the shower with Rita before work, but he had remembered just in time and headed downstairs to make coffee instead.

If this also helped him avoid watching her walk around in one of those short fluffy towels, he was willing to chalk it up to good strategic planning on his part.

Sitting at the table, eating a quick breakfast, he could feel her watching him with barely concealed amusement, but he refused to let it get to him. The next two weeks would fly right by, and he'd prove to his partner once and for all that he had just as much will power and self-control as she did.

Admittedly, his next move, trying to turn the tables on her before they left the loft, wasn't too bright. Her hand was on the doorknob when he approached from behind and slipped his arms around her waist. He just couldn't resist. Brushing his mouth across the back of her neck, he inhaled. Small tendrils of hair were still damp and flowery smelling from her shampoo.

"Giving up already?" Rita teased, letting go of the door and turning in his arms.

"I'd have a lot more respect for my intelligence if I did, Sam," he admitted with a soft smile. "This really is a stupid bet, but no, I'm not giving in. I'm just taking advantage of the kissing clause." His lips moved across the soft curve of her neck.

Her eyelids drifted down for a moment, "Hmmm...I like the kissing clause." With a single word, she could end this bet, but she didn't. Instead, she turned, her mouth searching to make contact with his.

His hands drifted up to cradle her face. He only meant to give her a small kiss. Just to punish her for her attitude at breakfast. Just to remind her of the nights filled with magic that they had shared. Okay, admittedly...just to cheat a little bit. Big mistake.

The second their lips touched all thoughts of any bet went flying out the window. Their bodies had memorized each other long ago, and they moved against each other with a familiarity borne of long loving nights spent in intense exploration. His mouth grazed lightly across hers, his tongue flicking over her lower lip before dipping into the warm depths waiting for him. She tasted so sweet. Like some exotic nectar sent down to earth just to tempt him. He groaned and cupped the back of her head as he pressed her against the wall, trailing small hungry kisses down her throat. Her voice came to him as if from off in the distance, taking a few seconds to register in his hazy mind.

"Chris? We're going to be late."

He stiffened against her but didn't back away yet. So much for that bright idea. She still looked calm and collected while his insides were tightening up and screaming for more. Taking a deep breath, he pushed away from the wall and forced a casual smile. "Ready to go, Sam?" At least he had the satisfaction of seeing a surprised look on her face. He straightened the collar of Rita's blouse for her, feeling more confident every second. Opening the door, he let his partner walk out ahead of him. As he turned to lock it, he missed the intense look of relief on her face as she slowly exhaled.

* * *

Day Three

**They should have agreed** on a prize for the winner.

Rita was convinced that it wouldn't be long now. After that searing kiss against the front door yesterday morning, Chris had kept arms distance away from her at work and at home. The only exception to this was when they slept, and that was because no matter where they started off sleeping in the bed, their bodies always drifted to each other during the course of the night.

If only they had decided a prize. This would be the perfect excuse to buy that expensive pair of designer shoes she had seen at the mall last week. Or maybe the loser would have to give the winner a full body massage. A little candlelight. A little scented oil... _Save those thoughts for later_, she scolded herself.

Poor Chris. She watched him from across their desks. He had his head bent down over a file, trying to lose himself in the work. He'd never make it to the two-week mark. Even if they did get a call and a new case to work on, human nature being what it was, she was convinced that he would remain focused on the one thing he couldn't have.

It wasn't like they hadn't gone this long apart before. They certainly had on a number of occasions because of conflicting schedules or just being too tired, but the bet added pressure. He'd never make it.

Now she, on the other hand, was in complete control. This bet was not a problem. In fact, she had even picked up a new novel, a book she had been meaning to read for weeks, but just hadn't found the time. Reading in bed was a good substitute for their restricted activities. It was also guaranteed to help her fall asleep. Something she normally did from another type of exhaustion. _Mind off of that!_ she scolded again.

Maybe they could go out to a nice restaurant for a late dinner tonight. She was in control. No problem.

* * *

Day Four

**This bet was getting stupider** by the day. He was getting stupider by the day. No doubt about it. All that testosterone was pooling up and short-circuiting something vital somewhere. And to top it all off, they had sat in Captain Lipschitz's office for over an hour that morning, and the man knew. Neither one of them had said a word to him, but Chris could see it in his eyes. Cap was laughing on the inside. The sympathetic look and the thumbs-up signal that the older man had thrown him as they stood up to walk out were just about the last straws. Thank goodness Rita hadn't noticed.

Rita.

His partner.

His partner in the short red business suit. How could a simple red skirt and jacket exude so much sexuality without even a low neckline? He watched her from his desk as she stood talking to another detective across the room. It was driving him to distraction.

And those spiky heels. What was with the five-inch stiletto heels? Okay, maybe he was exaggerating just a little bit. But not by much. She had plenty of sensible shoes in her closet. Why wasn't she wearing a pair of them today instead? What if they had to chase a suspect on foot? She flexed one foot where she stood, shifting her weight to place one black pump a little behind the other. He watched the restless motion. The soft black calfskin leather molded to her slim foot as if it were born there, hugging the back of her heel and melting into a delicate ankle and calf so smooth and perfect looking...argh! Chris dropped his gaze to his desk.

He had known it was going to be a bad day. The minute he woke up, he realized he was spooned up against Rita's back with one arm wrapped around her waist and a body that had gone on full alert before he even opened his eyes. He had tried so hard to avoid that. The last thing he remembered was falling asleep with a death grip on his pillow. His traitorous body. Just couldn't trust it anymore, that was for sure. The pencil he was holding snapped in two. There was a point to this stupid bet, wasn't there? For the life of him, he couldn't remember what it was.

"Chris?"

He looked up to see the woman who occupied his thoughts standing right next to his desk now. "Yeah, Sam?" By some miracle, his voice managed to sound even and controlled.

"Captain wants us back in there." She watched a number of expressions pass over his face and quickly disappear.

"I'm ready," he said, a little too brightly to be believed, as he jumped up to join her. With one hand placed firmly on the small of her back, he guided Rita ahead of him into the Captain's private office. Staying at arm's length from her for the past few days was only prolonging the agony. He needed a new plan - quick.

"I know things have been a little slow around here lately," Harry stated, waiting for his two detectives to give him their full attention. He tried not to smile. "I want the two of you to meet George in his office in about ten minutes. He needs to go over your testimony on the McMillan case."

Rita protested, "I have work on my desk to finish up, Cap. Can't Chris handle it alone?"

"Both of you, Rita."

"But, Cap..."

Chris smiled to himself. What could she possibly be so nervous about? Maybe the cool controlled exterior was just that...an exterior designed to hide what was really going on.

...

"Chris?" George was sounding impatient for some reason. "Are you listening to me?"

Attempting to hide his frustration, Chris turned away from the window and back to the room with an apologetic look aimed at the Assistant District Attorney. "I'm sorry, George, please continue. You were saying that you want me to testify on Monday?" His glance slid to his partner.

"Yes, Monday. You'll be my first witness. It's very important that we lay the groundwork for the case early on. I want you to..."

George's words faded into the background again as Rita moved restlessly and sat up a little straighter. She was sitting in the chair right in front of George's desk so the Assistant DA's view was limited to above her waist, and he had no idea what she was up to. Standing at the window behind the desk, Chris had an unobstructed view of Rita crossing one shapely leg, encased in sheer silk, over the other. As she did this, her skirt rode higher up on her thigh. He couldn't tear his eyes away.

Rita placed a hand on her upper leg, and he sighed with relief, convinced she would tug the hem of her skirt down and allow him some peace. Instead, she flattened her palm against the flesh of her thigh and let it trail slowly, seductively down to her calf before reversing direction, and gliding higher and higher back up her leg.

He was grateful to find that George had turned his attention to Rita. How she managed to carry on a normal conversation as her fingertips moved hypnotically over her own skin, he had no idea. His own expression was a combination hunger and stunned disbelief. Swallowing hard, he stuck his hands in his pockets just as her movements revealed a quick peek at the top of thigh-high silk.

She was wicked.

She was a genius.

God help him - she was wearing a garter belt.

"Is that okay, Chris?" The temptress in question, turned her head slightly to stare innocently at her flushed victim.

He didn't look too good; of that he was certain.

Her fingers smoothed down the material of her skirt as she rose to her feet with feline grace. She moved towards the door. "We'll be there on Monday," she assured the ADA. "See ya, George."

Chris nodded, having no idea what he was agreeing to. He followed Rita mutely, earning a curious look from George. By the time they reached the hallway outside of the homicide division, he had recovered enough to stop his partner and pull her aside.

"That wasn't fair play, Sammy!" he said, pinning her with his stare. She should be feeling guilty, but he could tell she wasn't. Any hope of his competitive partner giving up soon was quickly dispelled.

With an intentionally provocative smile, she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. "Keep your mind out of the gutter, Sam. It's just a pair of silk stockings."

Chris' voice cracked as he pointed out the obvious, "It's what you have on under there with the stockings, and you know it."

**Rita chose to ignore** her partner's harsh, ragged breathing, just as she ignored the melting warmth pooling within herself.

"Who says I have anything else on with them?" Ducking under the arm he had braced against the wall by her head, she left him, mouth hanging open as he contemplated her words. The visuals on that little fib should put a quick end to this nonsense. Or so she hoped.

...

**"You have got to be kidding!"** George Donovan blurted out with a loud laugh. Curiosity over Chris and Rita's odd behavior had prompted a quick call to their captain. Settling back into his chair with the phone to his ear, he waited for the punch line. Harry couldn't be serious.

"I'm telling you, George, the kid is never gonna make it."

"What a bonehead idea. Why in the world would he ever agree to such a stupid bet?"

"It's a matter of principle, George!" Harry explained indignantly.

The picture was becoming clearer. "Did you put him up to this?"

"Me?" Harry stammered. "I might have mentioned that he should prove her wrong..."

"Harry! If he loses this bet, we are never going to hear the end of it. You'd better make sure he stays strong."

"You want me to babysit his libido? What? Are you nuts?"

"Harry..."

"It's only for two weeks," he tried to assure George, unintentionally revealing his intimate knowledge of the situation. "Okay, I confess. I overheard them talking the other day. Week one will be over soon. There is always the slim chance that he'll be able to hold out another seven days."

"They just left my office, Harry. I called you because I was concerned about Chris. He was damned near catatonic, and he couldn't keep his eyes off of his partner. You'd better do something."

Harry huffed and sputtered, "This is not my problem, George. It's not my bet."

"I cannot picture Chris Lorenzo ever attempting something like this without a little outside influence. You owe it to him."

"Humph!"

* * *

Day Five

**Saturday was supposed** to be a relaxing day, but conditions were deteriorating rapidly, and Chris was still steamed. After Rita dropped that little bombshell out in the hallway yesterday, they had both returned to their desks in a foul mood. The day had dragged on endlessly with both of them barely speaking to each other, and last night had been even worse. Admittedly, she had apologized for teasing him, but he wasn't convinced that she had meant it. He could still sense a little smug satisfaction in the air. Especially when he had asked her to fill him in on the meeting in George's office.

The heavy bag was his therapy of choice. Clearing his mind, he continued his workout undisturbed.

**Unbeknownst to him**, Rita sat on the top stair and watched her partner silently. She had given up reading her new novel an hour earlier. Listening to the sounds of leather pounding leather, hearing Chris' grunts and groans from his efforts - it was all just too distracting. So here she sat, watching those arms, glistening with sweat, deliver blow after blow...

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and tried to think about work. Then she tried to think about the grocery shopping she needed to do. When those two topics refused to stick in her mind, she even tried thinking about cleaning out whatever was growing in the back of the vegetable drawer in Chris' refrigerator. It was no use. Even mold somehow brought her attention back to her partner.

Controlled power and strength...a tight tank top over well-developed pectorals... was there anything sexier?

Not that she could think of. Waves of desire rose up in the form of pure craving. Craving to touch the damp skin she couldn't turn away from. The need was so overwhelming and alive, she was surprised he wasn't aware of it.

But he wasn't.

He was down there moving with that instinctive grace and style that was uniquely his own.

Wrapping her arms around her legs, Rita rested her head against the wall behind her, bending and stretching her neck as she tried to relieve a little of the tension.

She froze with flushed cheeks as Chris stopped for a moment, tugging on the bottom of his tank top to mop the perspiration from his brow. She caught an all too brief glimpse of a firm, chiseled abdomen before he exhaled sharply and shook out his arms, unaware of the silent sea-green gaze that watched every move.

Time seemed to stand still until some sixth sense alerted him to her presence, and he glanced up the stairs. They stared at each other ravenously.

Chris was breathing heavy, the blood still pumping through his system, and his entire body was humming from the exercise. He watched her with the stillness of a panther ready to strike.

Rita felt his glance as surely as if he were touching her right then and there. Her pulse was wild and erratic.

Every atom of her being willed him to move. If he took one step towards her, she would fly down the stairs to meet him halfway. One hand moved to her throat in an unconscious, self-protective gesture.

**Chris looked for acquiescence** and found only raw, aching need. It was enough.

Just as he began stripping off his leather gloves, the doorbell rang, shattering the fragile connection between them. Looking up as he walked to the door, he noticed she had disappeared from her perch on the stairs. Checking the peephole, he frowned and opened the door.

"Cap?"

"Chris! What the hell have you been doing? You look exhausted." Harry walked right into the apartment, ignoring the confused look on his detective's face. "Where's Rita?"

"She's upstairs. What are you doing here? Has there been a homicide?"

"No...no...Frannie and I were just heading over to that new restaurant on State Street, and it suddenly occurred to us that we never go out together with you two. So here I am."

Chris' eyebrows shot up in surprise as his boss stumbled over his explanation. It didn't take a professional to figure out something was up. But what?

"As you can see, Cap, I'm not exactly dressed to go out."

"Nonsense, Lorenzo," Harry said, clapping him on the arm, "go upstairs and shower. Throw something casual on, and you're all set. Dinner is on me."

Now Chris was really worried. In the five years they had worked together, he could count the number of times this had happened on one hand. Maybe the Captain and his wife, Frannie, were fighting again. One way or another, he needed to talk to Rita. "I'll be right down," he said, taking the stairs two at a time.

"Rita?" he called out in a hushed whisper. She stepped out of the small bathroom and threw him a questioning glance. "Cap and Frannie want to take us out to dinner...now."

"Why?"

"I have no idea. He's waiting for both of us downstairs. See if you can work it out of him while I take a quick shower. Something is up."

Rita walked down the stairs just in time to catch the Captain nosing around the apartment. He seemed to be looking for something.

"Captain? Is everything okay?"

Harry glanced up at the petite brunette with a nervous smile. She looked relaxed, but not too relaxed That was a good sign. "Ready for dinner, Rita?"

"I guess so, Cap. Where is Frannie? Chris said the two of you are taking us to dinner?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah..." he waved her question away impatiently. "She's down in the car waiting. Why don't you go and keep her company."

Rita eyed him quizzically but decided to go along with his request for the time being.

The next four hours would someday be looked back on with amusement. Rita was surprised to find Frannie just as much in the dark as she was when it came to figuring out what Harry was up to. He joked and teased all during their dinner together, trying to entertain everyone and make the meal last as long as possible. The restaurant he picked out overlooked the ocean, and he even insisted on an after-dinner walk for all four of them. In fact, he didn't offer to drive to young couple home until he was convinced he had tired them out sufficiently.

With George's warnings still ringing in his head, he tried to talk Chris into inviting them up for coffee. That was when Frannie put her foot down and declared she was exhausted. He couldn't argue with that, but he could ask Chris to come over the next day and help him redo the sprinkler system in his front yard.

"Harry!" Frannie interrupted, "I thought you were going to call someone to take care of that for you?"

"What? And pay those prices? Why should I do that when I have friends who can help me? We just have to dig a few shallow trenches and re-route the water flow. It should only take a few hours. How about it, Chris?"

Chris glanced at his partner quickly, searching for some help. Unfortunately, she looked as lost as he did. "I...uh, sure..."

"Perfect!" Harry said happily, "be there at seven a.m. We can do most of the digging before it gets too hot."

* * *

Day Six

Hard labor at Cap's house. Good for working off excess energy but very hard on the back.

* * *

Day Seven - The Day Of Reckoning

"Sergeant Lorenzo?"

Chris and Rita had just returned to the precinct after spending most of the afternoon in court. Chris accepted a message slip from the uniformed officer who approached. His eyes widened as he read it.

"What is it?" Rita asked.

"You'll never guess who they picked up last night."

"Who?"

"Mark Willowbrook." Looking across at his partner, he explained, "I updated the arrest warrant last week, and it popped up when he was pulled over for a traffic violation late last night."

"Has anyone talked to him yet?"

"No. Sanchez was the primary before he retired. Let's talk to Cap."

Captain Lipschitz, unaware that this was the homicide case that had led to the current strain between his two detectives, was more than happy to assign them the job of interrogating Mr. Willowbrook. With his blessings, they were soon face-to-face with the man who was suspected of murdering his wife because she refused to have sex with him.

"Have you been read your rights, Mr. Willowbrook?" Rita asked, standing next to the table with her arms crossed in front of her.

"Yes." Their suspect, a rather lost-looking man in his early forties, refused to meet her eyes. His dark brown hair was lifeless and overgrown; his skin sallow and unhealthy looking. He no longer resembled the young, attractive man who was booked for his wife's murder in 1990.

"And you are waiving your right to an attorney?"

"Yes."

Chris stepped out of the shadows in the corner of the room. "Are you sure about that, Mark?"

The suspect hid his face in his hands and started sobbing. His shoulders shook with his grief. When he finally looked back up at the detectives, his eyes were dark with pain. "I can't take this anymore," he whispered.

Rita placed her open palms on the table in front of her and leaned forward. An audio recorder documented their every word. "What can't you take anymore?"

"I killed her," he said softly, and then repeated in a stronger voice as he met Rita's eyes, "I killed her."

"You are confessing to the murder of your wife, Margaret Willowbrook, on February 14, 1990?"

"Yes..."

"Why?" Chris asked. "Why did you do it? Why didn't you just divorce her if the marriage was over?"

"I loved her."

"You had a funny way of showing it," Rita snapped. "You killed her in cold blood because she wouldn't sleep with you, and then you went right back to work the next day as if nothing had happened. That doesn't sound like a man who loves his wife."

His pale face twisted in anguish, Mark jumped in to explain, "I did love her! I just couldn't take it anymore. The rejection was too much."

"Why didn't you divorce her?" Chris asked again, trying to understand the man's motives. "Why not have an affair? Why resort to murder over sex?"

"It wasn't about the sex!" Mark cried out. "I could have had an affair with any number of women if it had been about that..." He broke down sobbing again, unable to go on.

Chris glanced at his partner; confusion evident in his expression. She didn't seem to understand their suspect any better than he did. Reaching for one of the wooden chairs, he sat down across the table from the distraught man and waited. Rita did the same. There was no need to browbeat their suspect in order to get a confession out of him, he was hard enough on himself and seemed anxious to talk.

Mark managed to get himself under control after a few minutes, and he tried speaking again. "When Margaret and I were first married, it was wonderful. We were so close; we could just sit and talk for hours on any subject. We did everything together. But, after a few years, we both got caught up in our careers and stopped making time for each other. For a while we even tried to have kids, thinking that would help, but it just never happened." Bloodshot eyes looked up into Chris', "I missed her. I missed what we had. Somewhere along the line, we had stopped listening to each other. There was too much distance between us. I saw it happening, but it was already too late to fix it."

"What about the night of the murder?" Rita prodded gently.

"I came home from work early, and she was all dressed up. She looked beautiful. Margaret had the softest brown hair..." He stared at the wall, lost in his memories.

"Why did you kill her, Mark?" Chris asked. "Why didn't you walk away?"

"It was Valentine's Day, and she was waiting for someone else," he whispered in despair. "And I never even knew. I never even suspected..."

Chris exhaled slowly, any satisfaction in getting the case solved numbed by the tragic ruination of two lives. "This wasn't about sex," he mumbled, mostly to himself.

Mark heard his quiet words and shook his head slowly, his eyes haunted by inner pain. "No," he admitted, "it was about loss. When I realized that I had truly lost Margaret, something inside of me snapped." He looked down at his hands, the instruments of destruction all those years ago. "I would do anything to bring her back. I can't run from what I did anymore."

The next hour was spent getting a detailed confession from the broken man. Once it was complete, Rita stood up and motioned for Chris to follow her to the doorway. "I think we have enough." At his agreement, they arranged to have Mark Willowbrook returned to his cell.

Back at their desks, they started on the paperwork required to wrap up their end of the case.

Rita looked up to see Chris tapping his pencil on the desk. He seemed distracted. "What's wrong?" she asked, "Don't you believe him?"

"Oh, I definitely believe him," Chris admitted. "He's obviously very torn up inside about this. I think he wanted to be caught."

"I got that impression also."

"Sam?"

Rita watched and waited expectantly as he tried to pull his thoughts together. She could sense his worry.

"What do you think makes two people, obviously in love at one time, lose touch like that?" Their little wager had put more of a strain between them than he was comfortable admitting to, and he leaned back in his chair to watch her.

"I've seen plenty of couples drift apart, Chris. I think it happens in a lot of relationships, but it doesn't have to be fatal."

"Sounded pretty fatal to me."

"In the Willowbrook case it was, but I've seen other couples work it out. Sometimes two people have to stop and re-prioritize their lives before the distance between them is too great." Her eyes followed Chris as he stood up and walked around the desk to stand behind her. She could feel his breath on her neck as he bent down to speak softly into her ear.

"Sometimes..." he murmured, "you have to forget about stupid bets and trying to prove an inconsequential point so you can get back to what's important." He was gone a second later, the lingering scent of his aftershave the only sign he had been there.

"Sometimes you do," Rita whispered to herself, a quiver of anticipation starting in the pit of her stomach. A self-conscious glance around the room assured her that everyone else was busy with their own work. With a determined air, she attacked the file in front of her, anxious to get the day over with.

**Chris picked up** the note that was taped to his phone and read it quickly. Rita had headed home without him. What was that all about? He had only been downstairs for an hour or so.

"Chris," Harry called out to his lost looking detective, "here's the Willowbrook file. Your partner turned it in before she left. I signed off and it's ready to be sent upstairs."

"How long ago did she leave?" he asked as he took the file and added it to his outbox.

Harry glanced over the top of his glasses. "About forty-five minutes ago. She said something about catching a ride with Taylor. Is there a problem?"

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Chris stared at his shoes, seemingly fascinated by the buffed black leather. They had driven in together today. Why hadn't she waited for him? The note didn't even mention which apartment she had gone home too. He kicked the leg of the desk softly, deep in thought.

"Lorenzo?" Harry tried again, more forcefully. "Is there something going on that I should know about?"

Saved from the captain's question by the ring of his desk phone, a smile broke out on Chris' face as the caller identified herself.

Harry shook his head, muttering softly as he turned to walk away. "This place is starting to resemble a soap opera."

"It's about time you returned to your desk, Sergeant," the lilting voice scolded.

"Where are you, Sam?" Chris wasn't in the mood to waste time with small talk.

"I'm at my place fixing us dinner."

"I'll be home in twenty minutes."

"Make it fifteen, and I'll have a special surprise for you."

"I'll be there in ten."

"I was hoping you'd say that."

...

His heart was racing, pounding loudly in his chest as he stood outside the door to Rita's apartment. He once again reminded himself that the two weeks weren't up yet and that he may have read too much into the brief phone conversation with his partner. One thing he did know with profound certainty was that the bet was now over for him. Talking to Mark Willowbrook today had been unsettling and forced him to re-evaluate the situation. He no longer cared about winning; it was no longer important. In fact, he would move heaven and earth if necessary, to avoid the type of situation that the Willowbrooks had found themselves in.

Opening the door quietly, he stepped into the dimly lit apartment. There was a band of bright light under the door to the kitchen, but the candles in the center of the small dinner table were the only source of illumination in the living room. The smells coming from behind the closed door were heavenly. He had almost forgotten about food, too caught up in hunger of another kind.

"Sam?"

"I'll be right out," her voice responded from the depths of the kitchen. "Why don't you go upstairs and wash up."

He was suddenly assailed with self-doubt. Maybe the dinner she promised was just that. Dinner. He headed upstairs to do as she suggested. Inside the bedroom, his curious glance fell on the bed. Rita had laid out a pair of black wool dress slacks and a dark grey turtleneck. Not exactly formal wear, but nicer than what he currently had on. He didn't hesitate, intrigued by this mysterious development. Stripping down, he opted for a quick shower before changing. Once the hot spray pelted his tense muscles, he started to relax for the first time that day.

**Rita took a sip** of wine and checked her reflection in the glass oven door for the tenth time. Her face felt flushed, her eyes had darkened to deep emerald green and every square inch of her skin was tingling with nervous energy. Smoothing down the thin black material of her dress, she tried to concentrate on her dinner preparations. The chicken, Chris' favorite recipe, was done and resting atop the stove. The salad was made, the wine was opened, and vegetables were ready. It hadn't been easy to pull all this off in the preceding hour, but she was a woman on a mission. As far as she was concerned, the bet between them was now over.

Peeking out the kitchen door, she found the living room still empty. Water could be heard running in the shower upstairs, and candlelight flickered across everything in the room. She had to admit, the table looked beautiful. An antique lace tablecloth and china place settings handed down to her by her foster mother added the perfect touches to an already romantic setting. What would the Lances have thought of her Christopher? They had been a kind, caring couple. No doubt they would have loved him almost as much as she did. The water turned off upstairs, and she ducked back into the kitchen. Less than ten minutes later, she heard his footsteps descending the stairs.

"Sam?"

Time was up. Rita turned off the kitchen light, not wanting to disturb the atmosphere in the other room, and carried the serving platter through the door. She paused just inside the living room and gazed at Chris with open hunger in her eyes. She just couldn't help it. He stood there with his damp hair slicked back, dressed in the clothes she had laid out for him. He was gorgeous. Those deep, soulful blue eyes locked onto hers.

Suddenly at a loss for words, she watched his eyes travel hungrily over her body, taking in the short, black dress, and the black high-heeled pumps that she used to torture him with earlier in the week.

Chris was the first to move, stepping forward to take the platter from her. He set it down on the table without a word, unwilling to break the simmering connection between them. He turned back to her and reached out to cup her cheek. He turned his hand, and the back of his knuckles grazed over the delicate curve of her jaw before trailing down the side of her neck.

Rita shivered; her skin too sensitized to handle even the lightest of touches without reacting. When his index finger dipped into the bodice of the spaghetti strapped dress and tugged, she willingly closed the distance between them.

**"My God, you're so beautiful,"** he whispered in awe. She returned his searing gaze boldly, and the naked desire in her eyes threatened to burn right through him. Lowering his head, he kissed her with all the pent-up need that had been building in him for the past week. She tasted of white wine with just a hint of mint.

His hands, which had been cradling her face, moved down to her shoulders.

Once there, they tightened and squeezed, pulling her more forcefully against his chest as his tongue parted her lips.

Her mouth was soft, damp, and welcoming.

**Rita gave herself up** to his frantic but tender touch. Her nervousness was gone, and she ached to satisfy the deep inner longing that had been held in check all week. Something inside her turned warm and liquid as his hands began stroking the backs of her thighs, inching higher and higher under the short hem of her dress. Chris broke off the kiss abruptly, and she felt his sharp intake of breath as he found the ribbons of her garter belt. She waited for him to undo the clips, but instead, he simply fingered the satin material before dipping into the tops of her silk stockings. It was her turn to wait breathlessly for his next move.

She didn't have to wait long. After leaving the erotic silk that encased her thighs, his warm palms moved higher, past the swell of her hips to encircle her waist. He toyed with the thin scrap of black lace he found there.

"You win, Sam," he whispered tremulously.

She held on to his neck for support. Her lower limbs were no longer trustworthy. Leaning her head back, she tried to look into his eyes but they were closed as he lavished her neck and shoulders with the desperate, hungry kisses of a starving man.

Her voice was thick and dreamy as she assured him, "There is no winner. You're more important to me than trying to prove some stupid point." She dropped her arms and the dress which he had just finished unzipping floated down into a small black puddle at her feet.

She trembled in his arms and started pulling on the bottom of his turtleneck, yanking it roughly out of the waistband of his slacks. Lifting his arms, he helped her pull it over his head with desperate, quick moves, neither one of them wanting to lose contact for even a few short seconds. Mouth to mouth, burning skin to burning skin, their hands kept moving over every square inch of each other with wild, tactile abandon.

**Chris broke off the kiss **and gasped for breath. His lungs screamed for oxygen while his mind reeled from the feel of her hands kneading the flat, hard planes of his stomach. "Upstairs," he rasped just before his mouth closed over hers once again. He continued his assault, backing up toward the stairs as she moved restlessly against him. A groan of painful pleasure escaped him.

"Now," she insisted, but he wouldn't be deterred.

Lovemaking on the couch, or even the floor, was for more playful times. What burned between them right now came from deeper within.

Recapturing her lips**,** the kiss was hot, wet and unrelenting. His arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her up higher against him until her feet left the ground. As soon as her arms were fastened tightly around his neck again, he carried her up the stairs.

Kicking the bedroom door open with his foot, he carried her to the bed and set her gently on top of the down-filled comforter. Deep blue eyes smoldered at the sight of her slim, graceful body. Her eyes met his, and his insides nearly exploded right then and there. What he found in those emerald green depths was indescribable. Without breaking eye contact, he pushed his slacks off his hips, kicked them aside and braced a knee on the bed next to her. She reached for him eagerly and without hesitation.

...

**"Harry?"**

Captain Harry Lipschitz looked up to find the Assistant District Attorney standing in the doorway to his office. "Come in, George. What's up?" Setting his pen down, he leaned back in his chair and motioned toward one of the empty seats in front of him.

George walked in but declined the invitation to sit. "I just thought I'd check with you before I head home, and find out how the big bet is going."

Harry's eyes crinkled with amusement, and he confessed, "I don't think we have that little problem to worry about any longer."

"You're kidding!" George said, surprised. He decided to sit down after all, eager to hear the latest developments. "Well...spit it out!" he complained when Harry remained silent, "who won?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know? How do you know it's over then?"

He could sense George's frustration, but there wasn't much Harry could do about it. He tried to explain.

"Neither one of them has said anything to me, George. I just sense it. Something happened today, and Rita left to go home alone. Not too long after that, Chris followed."

"That doesn't sound too unusual," George argued.

Harry chuckled softly. "If you could have seen the look on their faces, you'd understand my certainty."

George grinned reluctantly. "Were we ever that young, Harry?" He stood up to leave.

"Yeah, George, I think we were."

"It went by too quick."

"Speak for yourself," Harry scolded with a laugh. "I think I'll give Frannie a call, and see if she wants to go out for a late night, romantic dinner for two."

George's eyes widened with understanding, "What an excellent idea. Maybe I'll drop by Taylor's place and see what she's up to."

"Night, George."

"Night, Harry."

...

**His hands were gentle**, yet rough; reverent, yet teasing. He brought her to the edge of fulfillment with his touch alone and then refused to give her more. And just when she thought she would die from the wanting...he came to her fully, entering her body as he entered her soul. With confidence borne of their commitment to each other, a savage need tempered by tenderness, and most importantly - love.

He paused, waiting for a sign before continuing. It wasn't long in coming. Rita had closed her eyes to savor the ecstasy but opened them slowly now, and what he saw there reassured him. They immediately surrendered to an age-old rhythm that blocked out everything else in the world except the two of them.

A week apart had left them both too raw with need to last very long. Strong arms held her close in the aftermath until both of their bodies had stilled, and their heartbeats returned to normal.

Rolling over, Chris lay on his back and pulled the comforter over them. Eyes closed, he smiled as she shifted position on top.

He murmured lazily, "Next time I come up with a really stupid idea, just ignore me." The vibrations of her contented chuckle warmed his heart. His body was once again reacting to her nearness.

"I think this one was really my fault." Her mouth moved against his neck as she spoke. "I can't believe I picked on you the way I did. I don't know what upset me so much about the Willowbrook case."

"I think we were both tired of sitting at our desks for so long. I can't remember the last time work was so slow."

They continued to talk quietly, free to interrupt each other with a slow kiss or intimate touch whenever the desire struck them. And just when his hips seemed intent on starting a familiar, ever-increasing, rhythm, the bedside phone began to ring.

It was a barely heard, but insistent intrusion into their private world of sensual pleasure. "We have to get that, Sam." Rita threw out the husky comment without any real conviction.

The ringing continued.

Chris reached across the bed for the receiver. He was a few inches shy so he lifted his hips higher and scooted across. "Sam..." he groaned helplessly as she immediately responded. There was no place in the world he would rather be, he decided, than at her mercy.

Rita closed her eyes and sat back, attempting to stay still and be helpful.

"Lorenzo!" he answered the phone in a sharp, breathless voice. "This had better be good!"

"Chris?" Harry asked with concern. "Are you okay? You don't sound well."

Chris rolled his eyes heavenward as his partner continued to straddle his thighs. He took one look at the beautiful woman atop him, her eyes closed, her body glistening with sweat, and he prayed for strength...

"What's up, Cap? We're off the clock."

"I know that Sergeant, but it's only seven, did I interrupt your dinner?"

"Not exactly." Silky brown tresses tickled his chin. The woman he loved more than life itself was now bending over him, using her mouth to drive him insane. She left no part of his chest untouched by her lips and hands as he desperately tried to focus on what the Captain was saying.

"A body was found in the parking lot of the Civic Center. I want you and Lance to get down there right away. The officer who answered the call has identified the victim as the Police Commissioner's niece."

"But, Cap..."

"NOW, Lorenzo! It doesn't get much more high profile than this. I need you two on it."

"We'll be there."

"That's what I like to hear. I'll meet you there in fifteen. "

Chris hung up the phone, but before he could relay the message, his mouth was captured by the heavily aroused woman in his arms. He sighed against her lips.

"How much time do we have?" she finally murmured.

"We have to be across town in fifteen minutes." His partner wasn't giving up easily. She continued to move over him seductively. Well...never let it be said that he was a quitter. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he surprised her by rolling over once more, flipping their positions so Rita was on her back.

She laughed, happiness radiating from her, despite their interrupted play. "I guess we should get up then and jump in the shower."

"Are you saying you don't think we have enough time to finish what we started?" His hips continued to move slowly as he spoke, enjoying the slight quiver in her voice as she rushed to answer him.

"No, I just meant...what are you insinuating? That it only takes five minutes?"

"You wouldn't have made it another five minutes anyway," he assured her with a cocky grin. "In fact, I'm willing to bet that we can both find satisfaction in less than five minutes."

"I dare you..." Rita bit her lower lip as she realized what she had just said. The sensual desire was still simmering, but it took a temporary back seat to simple joy in her heart. "Wait a minute...this isn't one of those stupid ideas of yours that you were just warning me about, is it?"

Chris reached between their bodies, knowing just where to touch to make her gasp and cry out in pleasure. "Four minutes, and counting."

_Chris won the bet, but they were still fifteen minutes late to the crime scene, earning a knowing smirk from the Captain. He was impressed. He figured it would be at least an hour before they showed up._

_Young love. Ain't it grand?_

THE END

As always, feedback by PM or Review is greatly appreciated.


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